They’ve found me.
I’ve been careful, as careful as a dream junkie can be, which is never careful enough, apparently, because the cops have found me. And when I say “the cops” we’re not talking those who protect and serve. We’re talking those who moonlight as assassins for the rich and powerful.
Well, I guess they do protect and serve. Just not people like you and me.
I’ve been clean for seven months, but they’re not chasing me to run me up on some stupid dream theft charge. They want something more: they want me dead and the Senator’s dream to die with me. Right now they’re about to get me cornered in an alleyway where they’ll make me disappear, just like they did that reporter. I have about twenty seconds.
I create a door. Normally something as large as a door takes hours——especially in my weakened state——but I don’t have that kind of time. The door materializes in the wall and I open it. A bullet ricochets off its edge and I turn to see one of the cops pointing his gun at me.
Quickly, I close the door and uncreate it, just in time. Bloody cops. Looking around, I see a snow-covered world and off in the distance, a witch on a sledge is approaching. Oops, wrong world.
I create a rocket-powered Zamboni. Normally something that complicated would take months, but I don't have that kind of time. The engines thrust me across an ice floe, but I can't stop the thing and it slides off the edge of a cliff. One thought occurs to me: do I have time to create a parachute?
Opening: Stacy.....Continuation: Pthalogreen/EE